Froomes’ book says the quiet parts out loud. I’m ready to do the same.
This article includes mentions of disordered eating and may be distressing for some readers. Helplines can be found at the close.
I remember the first time I came across Lucinda Price on Instagram. Known colloquially as “Froomes” online, the media identity penetrated (sorry) my algorithm during the first lockdown in 2020.
On her account (currently followed by 67.7k fans), she seemed to perfectly encapsulate the way we were all feeling: batshit crazy. I laughed along as she shared wild content, like tributes to her crush (vale, Shane Warne), deranged Shrek-related photoshopped images and even live-streamed iso-dates.
Doing my due diligence, I scrolled down her page to see whether this lunacy (a compliment) was pandemic-induced, and was pleasantly surprised to discover Froomes has always let her freak flag fly. She had the kind of cooked, clever and zeitgeisty sense of humour that had always appealed to me. I was taken aback by her confidence and charisma, even through my phone screen.
I can vividly remember thinking to myself, “this girl is so lucky she’s hot and can get away with posting this kind of content.”
In the subsequent years, my admiration for Froomes has only grown. Not only am I impressed by her skills as a freelance content creator, podcast host, CEO (iykyk) and now author, but I’m sincerely grateful for her courage in sharing her experiences with an eating disorder.
In her debut book (which has quickly become my entire personality) All I Ever Wanted Was to Be Hot, Froomes interrogates diet culture, patriarchy and capitalism (the three things that make me grimace and shake my fist in the air like an old man), and does so with humour, grace and biting honesty. The book is underpinned with the story of her eating disorder, and she generously shares with us how she got there, how it manifested, and how she came through it.
For a millennial, Melbourne-based woman, I cannot begin to tell you how much the stories of her youth resonated with me. From gravitating towards the blonde, pretty girls in kindergarten, to the unintentionally inappropriate dance concerts she and her friends performed as tweens (to an audience of parents), and being dangerously intoxicated by the allure of Victoria’s Secret Angels during teenagehood.
Froomes’ articulation of life as a young girl at school just trying to figure it out is equal parts entertaining and devastating, or at least for those who can viscerally see, smell, taste and hear all of the early aughts references scattered effortlessly throughout these chapters.
In the book’s introduction, potently titled ‘Hotness is Power’, she details how the release of The Pussycat Dolls’ 2008 banger ‘When I Grow Up’ led her to a realisation that would shape her view of herself and the world in the years to come.
“It was clear to me, at this point in time, that a woman’s biggest asset – and greatest power – was the way she looked. And so it began.”
Heartbreaking confessions and conclusions such as this are prominent in this book, as well as a wide range of interviews, research, intimate conversations with friends, anonymous disclosures from fans and in-depth family history. Honestly, I could probably pull out a quote from every three paragraphs to dissect and applaud, but that would be pointless, because you should all just read the book instead. It’s the most powerful content I’ve consumed in years.
Having said that, this passage from “Hotness is Power” feels necessary to share.
“I know relating to people is important when you’re unwell. Literature and blogs and newsletters and conversations can be portals of connection. For some people, they are little lighthouses, beckoning readers ashore from the Titanic-style wreckage that is diet culture.”
In the spirit of paying it forward, and completely inspired by the beautiful storytelling in this book, I feel compelled to share a little of my own “journey” (a word Froomes both derides and acknowledges is, unfortunately, completely appropriate when describing eating disorder recovery).
When I was 15, I randomly (like, out of the blue) contracted viral meningitis – “an infection of the membranes surrounding your brain and spinal cord” or whatever, (says Google). People can die from it, but luckily I was in and out of hospital in a matter of days. Unluckily, it completely wiped me out. A few months later, after trying to go back to school and experience some normalcy, I ended up hospitalised with pneumonia, another deeply unsexy illness. From this, my life-long struggles with episodic chronic fatigue commenced.
When I was finally back at school and making it through the day without a nap, it dawned on me that I should probably start paying more attention to my diet seeing as exercise was out of the question. Within six months, I was diagnosed with anorexia nervosa. I still remember the sick sense of accomplishment I felt upon hearing this news from my doctor, a real “we did it, Joe!” moment between my demons and I.
I was given the option of in-patient treatment (hospital) or out-patient. I chose the latter, and balanced school with weekly/fortnightly doctor, dietician, psychologist and psychiatrist appointments. I often think of this as my “sliding doors” moment. Would recovery have been easier without being mocked for wearing my jumper, blazer and scarf in the summer months? Without the popular girls claiming I was just “doing it for attention” (it = a life-threatening psychological disorder), or having to eat my lunch (two rice cakes with turkey slices) in the sickbay while I held back tears? Surely, no one in the hospital would’ve flippantly told me to “just eat a burger!!”
But then, I wonder what the backlash would’ve been like had I disappeared for six months and came back to school. It’s giving Serena Van Der Woodsen mysteriously returning from boarding school in Gossip Girl, except I didn’t have Blake Lively’s golden locks and hourglass figure. I didn’t have a figure at all, really. Just sad bones encased in fuzzy, lifeless skin.
Naively, I thought that restoring my weight back to a healthy (huge trigger word at the time) number would be the hard part. Turns out, it was what came afterwards that fucking sucked. My body no longer signified to people that I wasn’t ok. I’d “recovered”, or so it appeared. This was the first time the gravity of recovery hit me. In the chapter, “Froomes Weight Gain”, she shares the moment she realised that, according to Google, the internet had noticed her changing body. The examination of fatphobia is immaculate, and it makes both my 17-year-old self and my present day self want to hold her tight, cry with her, and then ultimately, maniacally laugh over how fucked it all is.
As Froomes examines in the book, socioeconomic factors can play a role in eating disorders, so it would be remiss of me not to acknowledge the privilege I was afforded by having parents that could financially support my recovery. The real privilege though, for me at least, was the company I kept. My family, and a handful of friends who have become family, held me close despite my subconscious attempts at pushing them away, and made an inherently isolating experience feel like a team effort.
My twenties (as is relatively standard) were a rollercoaster, and I’ve been thrown some unexpected curveballs in my thirties. In 2021, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder that has direct links to my diet. Imagine spending half of your life actively trying to detach morality from food, only to be told by medical professionals that certain food is “bad” for you? What the fuck, lol? On my good days, I try to see this as positive, because now I have a valid reason to rebel against diet culture (often thinly disguised as “health and wellness”). You guys can’t tell me what is good for my body, because the nuts and seeds and raw vegetables you promise will cleanse me will actually fuck my gut right up. Still, it’s hard.
This year, after a period of intense grief, I remembered just how relentless and diabolical an eating disorder can be. After losing my appetite (and subsequently a few kilos), I started to hear that little voice again. “Keep going!” it whispered, the same way it did back in 2007. Thankfully, I’ve been able to fight against it, but it’s been really confronting. I thought after the loss of such a significant loved one that I’d finally stop sweating the small stuff, but I guess the small stuff is the only thing you feel like you can control sometimes.
Lately, I’ve been working really hard at deriving my self-worth from things that have nothing to do with my appearance. I feel my best when I’m alone in my apartment playing piano, just for myself. Or when I make a God tier playlist that I’ll listen to on a slow walk around the river. Or when my best friend’s three-year-old requests his Aunty Lil’s attendance at his fourth, fifth and sixth birthday parties. I just want to be a good daughter, sister, friend, colleague and drunken hype-girl you meet in the toilets on a night out.
I’ve also been consciously trying to trade contempt and disdain for kindness, or at the very least, neutrality, when looking at myself in the mirror. To remind myself that feelings are not facts, and to make less self-deprecating jokes about my appearance, and more importantly, stop believing that I’m just beating people to the punchline.
In her closing chapter, ‘Appetite’, Froomes shares her “mission” to redefine hotness. “As the president of my own life, I hereby swear in a new amendment – that hotness is an energy and an attitude.” I couldn’t agree more, and am working on my own personal amendment. For me, I think true hotness is self-acceptance, and learning to love and value the woman I am today; because the older I get, the more I feel this is desperately owed to my younger self.
If All I Ever Wanted Was To Be Hot is the little lighthouse beckoning readers ashore, I hope this piece is the lighthouse’s body corp, ensuring that an electrician is booked for its routine inspection.
If this has raised any issues for you, or if you just feel like you need to speak to someone, 24-hour support is available through Lifeline on 13 11 14 or beyondblue on 1300 22 4636.
If you need help or support for an eating disorder or body image issue, please call Butterfly’s National Helpline on 1800 334 673, chat online or email [email protected]. Confidential and free support is available seven days a week, from 8am to midnight (AEDT). For more information please visit www.butterfly.org.au
Written by Lil Friedmann. You can follow her at @lilfriedmann on socials.
Image credit: @frooomes + Punkee